When I finally agreed to go with my husband to his ex-wife’s house, I thought I was just tagging along. I didn’t expect to see her standing there in a silky robe, her hair perfect, lips shiny with gloss, like she’d walked out of a magazine shoot instead of calling for a plumbing emergency.
But what really shocked me was the way her eyes froze the moment she saw me standing beside Henry.
Let me back up a little.
The day I met Henry, I stopped believing in random luck. We both reached for the same old copy of The Great Gatsby in a cozy little bookstore. He smiled, I smiled back, and just like that, my world changed.
Five years of marriage later, and most days I still got butterflies when he walked through our front door after work.
Most days.
“Mel, have you seen my toolbox?” Henry called out from the garage.
I stirred the pasta sauce bubbling on the stove and glanced at the clock. 6:30 p.m. on a regular Tuesday. Dinner was almost done.
“Under the workbench, where it always is,” I replied.
I heard the clatter of metal. He’d found it.
A few seconds later, Henry walked into the kitchen, toolbox in one hand, car keys swinging from the other.
“Going somewhere?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“Liz called. Her garbage disposal’s making this weird noise. She’s freaking out—thinks it’s something serious.”
I dropped my wooden spoon onto the counter harder than I meant to. “Dinner’s basically ready.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I’ll heat it up when I get back. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”
The front door clicked shut before I could say another word.
I turned off the stove and leaned against the counter. Suddenly, I didn’t feel hungry anymore.
Let me tell you something about my husband.
When I ask him to fix something—like hanging a shelf or checking the faucet that’s been dripping for weeks—he’ll say, “Yeah, I’ll get to it.” Someday.
But when Liz, his ex-wife, calls about a noisy towel rack? He’s out the door in five minutes flat.
At first, I told myself to stay calm. I tried.
They share a history, I reminded myself. He’s just being helpful.
But then came her other calls. One after another. A broken garage door. A leaky sprinkler. A jammed remote.
Each time, Henry would sigh like he was carrying the weight of the world and say, “She has no one else. I don’t want the house falling apart.”
You’d think the place was a museum. It was just the three-bedroom colonial they bought before their divorce.
Oh, and yeah—he still co-owned the house with her. His excuse?
“It’s just business, Melanie,” he told me when we first started dating. “We both invested in the house. Neither of us wants to sell at a loss.”
Back then, I believed him.
But five years into marriage? I was starting to feel like a fool.
The next morning, I brought him a hot cup of coffee and placed it on the nightstand.
Henry groaned and blinked awake. “What time did you get in last night?” I asked, sitting down on the bed.
“Around eleven, I think,” he mumbled. “The garbage disposal was fine, but then her sink started leaking. Had to change the gasket.”
“Four hours to change a gasket?” I raised an eyebrow.
He took a long sip of coffee. “She made dinner. I didn’t want to be rude.”
“You’re telling me she made you dinner.”
“It wasn’t planned, Mel. She just felt bad about the time.”
I got up and walked to the window. Morning light poured into our backyard, where weeds were taking over my flower beds. The deck needed staining. The bathroom faucet still dripped.
And Henry?
He was too “busy.”
“You know,” I said lightly, “our bathroom’s still leaking.”
Henry sighed. “I’ll fix it this weekend. Promise.”
But he didn’t.
Because that Saturday, Liz called about a “wobbly banister.”
The last straw came on our anniversary.
I was dressed up, table set, cheesecake waiting from our favorite bakery. But Henry didn’t walk through the door until 10:30 p.m.
He smelled like sawdust and guilt.
“Just tell me the truth,” I said, glass of wine in my hand. “Are you still in love with her?”
His eyes widened. “What? No! God, Mel, how could you even ask that?”
I started counting on my fingers.
“She calls, you run. She needs help, you drop everything. Our faucet is broken for weeks, but her crooked cabinet gets same-day service?”
He sat beside me, looking frustrated. “It’s not like that. She’s just… she’s helpless with home stuff. You know how to do things. You’re capable.”
I stared at him. “So I’m being punished for being capable?“
“No, that’s not—”
“She’s manipulating you, Henry. And you’re letting her.”
He clenched his jaw. “That’s not fair. She just needs help sometimes.”
“So do I. But I don’t call my ex-boyfriend every time I need a lightbulb changed.”
Like always, he promised to set boundaries.
And like always, I pretended to believe him.
One week later, in the middle of a work meeting, a text lit up my phone:
“Liz called. Kitchen flooding. Going over now. Might be late.”
I stared at the message, my hands shaking.
When I got home, Henry was packing his toolbox again.
“Ready to go play hero?” I asked, dropping my laptop bag on the counter.
He avoided my eyes. “It’s not like that.”
“Fine,” I said. I grabbed my purse. “Let’s go.”
His head snapped up. “What?”
“I’m coming with you. If this is about protecting your investment, I should be there too, right?”
He hesitated. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
The drive was quiet. The radio played soft love songs that felt ironic.
When we pulled up to her house, I noticed fresh paint, perfect landscaping, not a single thing looked out of place.
Liz opened the door in a silky robe, hair curled, makeup flawless. She stopped when she saw me.
“Oh,” she said, blinking. “I didn’t know you were bringing company.”
“Surprise,” I said with a sweet smile.
She raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you’d bring your plus one to fix plumbing.”
Henry brushed past us. “Where’s the flooding?”
“Right this way,” Liz said, leading him in.
I followed. Her living room was spotless. The kitchen too. The only “flood” was a tiny puddle under the sink that looked freshly poured from a cup.
“It just started gushing!” Liz said, hand to her chest. “I was terrified.”
“Good thing Henry’s always on call,” I said calmly.
Henry crouched by the sink. “It’s just a loose connection. Hand me the wrench?”
Before Liz could move, I stepped forward and handed it to him. “Here you go, honey.”
As he worked, I scanned the house. No signs of a man lived here. No razors, no shoes, no toothbrush. Liz didn’t need help from a boyfriend. She wanted Henry.
“Want something to drink?” she asked. “I made fresh lemonade.”
“No thanks,” I said quickly. “We have dinner plans.”
Henry glanced at me—confused. But stayed silent.
“All done,” he said eventually, standing up. “Just needed tightening.”
“My hero,” Liz cooed, touching his arm. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d call a plumber,” I cut in. “Like the rest of us.”
When Henry went to wash his hands, I pulled a folded paper from my purse and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked, unfolding it.
“Help,” I replied.
It was a list of three plumbers, two electricians, a gardener, and a screenshot of a dating app—with “friendly matches nearby!” circled in red. At the bottom I wrote:
“If you keep calling my husband, I’ll assume you can’t read.”
Her face turned red.
“You think you’re clever,” she whispered. “You have no idea what Henry and I shared.”
I smiled. “Oh, I know exactly what you shared—the past. What we share is the present. And the future.”
“He comes running when I call. What does that say to you?”
“That he’s kind. And you’re taking advantage of it.”
When Henry came back, I raised my voice to a normal tone. “You don’t need a man, Liz. You need maintenance.“
On the drive back, Henry finally broke the silence.
“That was… awkward.”
“Was it?” I said. “I thought it was educational.“
He looked over. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I pulled another paper from my bag—a lawyer’s business card. Address written on the back.
At a red light, he stared at it. “Seriously? You’re giving me an ultimatum?“
“Not an ultimatum. A choice,” I said. “If you want to keep fixing her house, you can go live in it.”
A car behind us honked. The light turned green.
He didn’t move for a second.
Then he slowly pressed the gas. “I didn’t realize how it looked. She really does need help—”
“So do I,” I said quietly. “I need a husband who’s here. Who shows up. Who fixes our faucet. Who doesn’t leave me alone on our anniversary.”
Henry stayed silent for a long moment. Then he picked up the business card, looked at it, and slipped it into the glovebox.
“I’ll call her tomorrow,” he said. “Tell her I can’t be her handyman anymore.”
“You’d do that?”
He reached for my hand. “I choose you, Mel. I always have.”
That was three months ago.
Liz? She found someone—one of the names I gave her. I heard he’s great with plumbing. Brought her flowers too.
As for us?
Henry fixed the faucet. And now he knows exactly who holds the toolbox in this marriage.
